9/10/19....we can all agree on one thing; the universe is weird
It was 1:00 am in a Steak N Shake bathroom right outside of Chillicothe, Ohio that it hit me—my very first tour was officially over.
My bag was on the baby changing station. I was slipping out of stage clothes and into my favorite old sweatshirt-leggings combo. My phone was recording a Snapchat story while I finished repacking in the stall. It captured me telling everyone how much fun the tour had been, how tired/alive/inspired I was , and cut off as I was saying goodnight and pushing open the bathroom door.
What it didn’t catch was the pause. The moment where I backed up and stood in front of the full length mirror under the flickering florescent lights. How I noted that the girl in there had hair that was a little less tame than the one back in Nashville, and looked the closest to the one who fell in love with performing 2 years ago than she had in a long time.
The phrase I use more often than not is “the universe is weird”. Sometimes I think it hears me and considers it a challenge. As the universe would have it, the same artist who put me on my first stage 2 years ago is the same one who took me on my first tour—Pistol Hill.
So there I was getting a little bit emotional in a Steak N Shake bathroom at 1 am, followed by having my first ever jalapeño crunch burger at the end of my first ever run of shows, sitting across the booth from the first ever big artist that gave me the time of day when I could barely play a guitar and I said to myself, “this is living the dream, and the universe is weird”.
From 9/5-9/8 I added all kinds of new cities and towns to my book of skylines. I set the new record caffine:RBC ratio in the human body. I got taken to school on some classic outlaw country music, and discovered a whole new wave of modern day Waylon, Merle, and Haggard boys that just don’t get talked about in Nashville. Who are writing songs that rattled me to my core and left me wondering “why is this not being played?” and then realized that just because songs aren’t on radio, doesn’t mean they aren’t being heard. Point being, this weekend made me remember why I fell in love with being a part of the music industry. I became a pro at scribbling lyrics in my notebook on unevenly paved roads and using a guitar case as a pillow (it works pretty good on an angle). I fell in love with the motel we all started calling “home” and the diner across the street with the waitress who loved our music.
But what I loved above all of the new stages and applause:
watching Nashville fade into view in the windshield at 5:00 am on Sunday morning.
It was like arriving at church. A reminder that there is lots of work to do between tours. It’s “hey, I know I left for a few days but this is what I learned and how we’re going to use it”. Its the one skyline I’ll never get tired of seeing. It’s home.
After landing in the parking lot of my apartment, Pistol and I got right to writing songs until even extra large cups of coffee weren’t keeping us functional. The rest of the morning was spent with my Mom and Pistol‘s incredible wife-to-be, Ansley. We shared lots belly laughs over more cups of coffee and slices of pie topped with ice cream. Somewhere in the middle of it all I leaned back in my chair and thought to myself once again,
“I think I’m witnessing the making of the good ole days. The universe is weird”.